


Scales And Gold And Wings And Scars

by die_traumerei



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Agender Aziraphale, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Body Worship, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Genderqueer Crowley, Happy, Life in the South Downs, Other, Picnics, Post-Canon, Really ridiculous levels of pastoral description, Skinny Dipping, Slice of Life, sexless Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22574233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: Happily retired to the South Downs, Crowley and Aziraphale take a day's holiday to go swimming and picnicking. And to see each other's true earthly corporations for the first time, angel marks and scales and all. A great deal of love and body-worship inevitably follows.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 213
Collections: Ace-Friendly Aziraphale Belly Kiss Fics, Asexual Good Omens, Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Scales And Gold And Wings And Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Sometimes I write something that isn't 30k words (and growing)!
> 
> This story is born out of a lot of things -- first and foremost, [this prompt](https://dietraumerei.tumblr.com/post/190367906858/regarding-aziraphale-and-potential-golden-angel), though it rather grew from there. 
> 
> Second, from reading _The Once And Future King_ , and White's lush, pastoral descriptions of rural England, particularly in the first book. They are absolutely in the Forest Sauvage in this story, in the way that all stories can connect, and thus they have a perfect summer day, as they all are in memory.
> 
> Finally, from my own sharp longing for summer, and softer longing for the British countryside. (A&C are, of course, wholly and fully English, but I've spent more time in Wales, so. In my heart I keep it all.)

Well, it wasn't as though they hadn't seen each other without clothes before. Technically, they predated the invention of clothing – though angelic and demonic robes were rather enveloping, it must be said – and humans had had varying attitudes towards nudity over the ages. So, living amongst humans, Crowley and Aziraphale did as well.

Of course, some things needed to be hidden – Crowley's eyes, for one, though he could only do that by physical means. And all of Aziraphale's eyes beyond the two usual ones, which were a bit easier to handle. Their wings, obviously. And, beyond that, they had generally found it best to hide Aziraphale's angel marks and Crowley's scales. It wouldn't really do for humans to see such things, not when they were trying to move incognito, so while they had seen each other unclothed, neither Crowley nor Aziraphale had ever actually seen the other's body, not as it truly was.

The apocalypse happened – or, rather, didn't – and Crowley and Aziraphale were free, more or less, for the time being, more or less. There was no threat of Heaven or Hell anyway. There was trauma, and fear, and getting used to not having to be afraid all of the time, for oneself or the other. There were invisible wounds, that turned into unseen scars.

But also, there was love. So much love that it overflowed the bookshop and the flat, so they bought a cottage amidst rolling green hills and white trails where the sea was close and the great wide sky even closer.

So it was that they woke up on Midsummer's day to fleecy clouds, birdsong, and a sun that already promised to be hot and bright all that longest day.

“Good morning,” Aziraphale said, and kissed Crowley even before his eyes had opened. He'd slept a little bit in the night, drifting off under starlight and waking with the dawn. A few pleasant hours of reading, and he had felt Crowley begin to stir, which meant it was time to get into position.

That meant being under the light summer duvet, snuggled up as close to his beloved as he could get and slowly, carefully, easing Crowley into his arms. Getting Crowley to hug his waist was always pretty simple – Aziraphale prided himself on being something of a full-body pillow. (Crowley had once informed him that the curves of fat above his hips were called love-handles, and he had been utterly delighted by this fact.) Urging Crowley to rest his head on Aziraphale's chest sometimes took a little doing, but oh, perhaps he had waited too long this morning, and Crowley was already awake, because he immediately squirmed into place, wrapped around Aziraphale and head pillowed on his chest, right over where his heart beat. (When Aziraphale remembered that that was a thing he could do, anyway.)

He did like to have Crowley wake already held in love, but if it didn't work out – well, better late than never.

“Mmmmaaaangel,” Crowley mumbled, and gave him a little squeeze.

“Good morning, love,” Aziraphale whispered, hugging Crowley back so that he smiled. He made sure not to embrace him too hard; Crowley didn't like tight spaces, and that included Aziraphale's arms. So he always held his love gently. It was no trial.

Crowley smiled and tilted his head up for his good-morning kiss.

“It's a beautiful day,” Aziraphale observed, when one yellow eye cracked open.

“Mmmrmph.”

Aziraphale giggled, and kissed the top of Crowley's head. “Well, it is. Coffee?”

“Inna bit,” Crowley mumbled. “Mrmph. Was dreaming.”

“Everything all right?” Aziraphale asked.

“Mmmhmm. Jus'. Wassit called. REM? Hard t'wake up from.”

“Whatever you say, darling.” It was definitely not a trial to hold a sleepy demon in his arms and stroke his hair and cuddle him until he could open his eyes properly, blinking out at the world. And even less of a trial when he slid free of Aziraphale's loose embrace and went to go take care of breakfast, neatly turning the tables so that it was Aziraphale who got to laze about in bed until coffee and pastries arrived.

“What should we do today?” Aziraphale asked, with all the rush to do that would be expected of someone professionally retired.

“Picnic. Got to have a picnic,” Crowley said firmly. “Summer day like this, got to eat something outside.” His smile turned cheeky. “We could eat by that spring you found in the woods, angel.”

“Oh, that will be lovely,” Aziraphale agreed. “Under all those trees, it will be quite nice.”

“For a skinny-dip!”

“Well, of course. Oh goodness darling, did I actually _shock_ you?” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Just because the current culture we inhabit isn't a great fan of my body doesn't mean _I'm_ not.”

“I'm not _shocked_ ,” Crowley managed weakly, after miracling the coffee off his t-shirt. “Glorious body, yours.” He coughed discreetly, and a bit of pastry found itself no longer about to head for his lungs. 

“Thank you. You're quite lovely as well, you know.” Aziraphale delicately sipped his coffee. “And bathing costumes are so uncomfortable, I always think.”

Crowley just wheezed. He hadn't seen Aziraphale's forearms since sometime in the sixteenth century, but here they were, planning a picnic lunch and a naked little swim under the trees. Sure. Of course.

Tickety-boo.

Crowley took charge of filling the picnic basket because he liked to surprise Aziraphale, and despite being an indifferent eater at best, had excellent taste in food. And, of course, no one knew what the angel liked better than he did. Aziraphale, for his part, was in charge of selecting the wine and brewing a flask of tea. Reluctantly, Crowley allowed him to select the picnic blanket, reassured that at least it would be expansive, soft, and very comfortable should he require a post-prandial nap anywhere that wasn't directly on top of his angel. Even if it would probably be the ugliest damn thing he'd ever seen.

When they'd each gathered their things, it was time to set out hand-in-hand and walk across fields rich with life under the summer sun. Leaving their own land meant walking across a meadow that Crowley was carefully letting go wild, and Heaven help any invasive species that dared to show a shoot. The yellow poppies waved in the summer breeze, and the sun's heat soaked into the tall grass. He had planted chamomile along the path such that they raised a lovely perfume as they walked, and pollen-drunk bees scrambled out of their way.

Aziraphale let his fingertips drift along the tops of the grass, and smiled at the drone of summer around them. He paused at the edge of the meadow, where they joined a public right-of-way, and kissed Crowley under the sun.

“I love you,” he said, because some things needed regular speaking into the world.

“Don't you start yet,” Crowley warned, and they smiled at one another. He set the picnic basket down for a moment and cupped Aziraphale's face in his hands, and kissed him back, soft as anything, head tilted and mouths coming together for a long time.

“I love you, too,” he murmured, and took up the basket again, helping Aziraphale over a stile and then being helped over in turn.

They walked along a field of wheat, the grains green and fat on the stalks in the early summer; with time they would turn golden, and then be cut down and the field become a sere, low brown for autumn and winter. Crowley knew the cycle, of course – he had seen it in this wheat's distant ancestors, but also because they lived here now, and were settled, and could take note of each minute change in their little world around the cottage.

A few more fields, and they found the half-hidden path through the forest. It was a strange gap where fence met hedge, and where strange things often happened; Crowley had once seen an owl sitting there in broad daylight, and Aziraphale had come upon bees swarming there twice. Such a place in the world couldn't be missed by angel and demon.

Still; hard to find didn't mean impossible, and Aziraphale quietly worked a harmless little ward as they took the path through the gap and around a vast old oak tree. If anyone had been planning to visit to the same spring, they would get other ideas, or something very lovely would happen that would unfortunately prevent the visit, and guarantee Aziraphale and Crowley the little spot to themselves.

They wound through the path, carefully avoiding low-hanging branches. Crowley ended up leading the way, and he held back any overgrown bits so they wouldn't swing back and get his angel. It was exaggerated care, of course – for one thing, Aziraphale was entirely covered in clothing from the neck down, as opposed to Crowley's rather short shorts and t-shirt – but he reckoned Aziraphale deserved a bit of extra kindness.

Also, he did moan so if he got a stain.

Finally, they reached their little Eden. It was in two parts, really; a grassy meadow that was open to the sky, shaded around the edge by trees but mostly sunny and bright. Next to it, a little more sunken, was a spring with a kind of natural grassy deck that gave one a spot to climb in. It was ringed with trees and full of mossy green silence. It was also startlingly clear, the icy water deep enough to cover even Crowley's head at one end, but leaving visible the pebbles and rocks that lined it; a perfect natural pool.

Aziraphale laid out the picnic blanket at the edge of the meadow such that most of it was in bright sunshine for a snake who might want to sun himself, and the edge was under shade, for a pale angel who did like a bit of tree cover. It was, to Crowley's quiet relief, not tartan but a fine blue with white stripes. (All the tartan sometimes got a tiny bit much.)

They settled in with a champagne toast and a small appetizer; nothing fancy, simply devilled eggs and a bit of caviar and crème fraiche on little rounds of toast.

Crowley stretched out in the sun with a happy sound, and made another happy sound when Aziraphale patted his leg and topped up his glass.

“Soak it up, love, it was a long winter,” Aziraphale said indulgently, finger-combing Crowley's hair.

“Mmmhmmm.” Crowley stretched, and his t-shirt rode up and he didn't bother to fix it; better to have the sun warm his belly too. Winter had been spent mostly before the fire, mostly wrapped either in blankets or a cuddly angel. Which wasn't bad, but he did so like feeling the sun beat down on his body.

Aziraphale sipped his champagne, miraculously cool still, and nibbled here and there while they both absorbed the world around them, the summer-slow bees and birds and the ripples of the trees in the breeze.

There was taking in pastoral bliss, though, and then there was joining in. Particularly when it gave the love of one's life a genuine shock, as it did when Crowley cracked an eye open to see Aziraphale cheerfully unbuttoning his shirt. The cuffs were already undone, and his bowtie was neatly folded at the edge of the blanket.

“Urk,” Crowley said.

“I thought we had come here to bathe,” Aziraphale said beatifically, like he wasn't a complete bastard. He probably thought it was cute, Crowley decided sourly. Aziraphale shrugged the fine cotton shirt off and oh thank Somebody, he was wearing a vest underneath. Crowley needed to work up to seeing Aziraphale topless for longer than it took him to change from clothes to pyjamas, or vice-versa.

“Uh huh,” Crowley said, when he remembered that Aziraphale was probably waiting for an answer. Mesmerized, he watched as the angel undid his belt and slipped out of his trousers, shoes and socks already abandoned.

“Hngh,” he added, as Aziraphale's knees saw daylight. Oh, his angel was lovely.

“Going to join me?” Aziraphale asked, and this drew Crowley up a little. They were not disguising their corporations the way they had for humans; he could see little glints of gold along Aziraphale's arms and yes, even sprinkling across his cheeks, like the sweetest freckles. There would be more on his tummy, probably, and along his thighs.

Crowley didn't have speckles of gold. And he was fairly sure Aziraphale wouldn't mind the scales, but, well, it wasn't just the scales. And that might...might be hard. On both of them.

Still. Aziraphale would know if he was hiding, and would be suspicious if he whipped his clothes off and went straight into the water, and never mind that he didn't  _want_ to do that. He wanted to lie naked in the sun and maybe Aziraphale would lie there with him, and...and be okay. Be okay with it all.

“Love?”

He had taken long enough that Aziraphale was just in vest and drawers, and was sitting by him, legs neatly folded under him and oh no, he was  _frowning_ . He was  _concerned_ , this was the worst thing ever.

“Mph, sorry. Half asleep,” Crowley attempted, but he wasn't sure it worked.

“You don't have to, love. You never have to, for me,” Aziraphale said, and wove his fingers with Crowley's, their palms pressing together. 

Crowley squeezed his hand, and then let go. “No,” he said. “I want to. Just. Well, you'll see.”

“All right.” Aziraphale took off his vest, and his torso sparkled but oh, especially over his heart. A galaxy of golden stars, right there in the centre of his chest, and Crowley's throat closed up and he must have made a noise.

“Darling? What's wrong?”

Crowley shook his head and pulled his t-shirt off, finally showing his true corporation. Little black scales glinting in the sunlight, the inverse of Aziraphale's angel marks, and over his chest, a matching galaxy.

“Oh!” Aziraphale covered his mouth with one hand, eyes gone wide. “Oh, my darling, my dearest one.” He reached out, hand hovering over the spirals that marked Crowley's heart. “May I?” he asked.

Crowley nodded, hands digging into his skinny thighs, and he made another noise when Aziraphale's fingertips touched his chest and gently, so  _gently_ , stroked the scales there. He followed the spiral pattern, then rested his hand over them. His smile was like nothing Crowley had ever seen before.

“You're perfect,” he said. “Oh, Crowley, you're absolutely perfect.”

Crowley grimaced a little, but he didn't argue. To do so would hurt Aziraphale. And. And anyway. Maybe Crowley wasn't perfect, but also maybe he was. He was sort of perfect.  _For Aziraphale_ .

He ducked his head and leaned in, and kissed Aziraphale's shoulder, loving the soft give under his lips. Slowly, he reached up, and rested his hand on Aziraphale's chest, so that they mirrored one another. The angel marks tingled under his palm but didn't hurt, and he let out a shaky sigh. And then a deeper one, when Azirpahale gathered him into a hug, hands caressing Crowley's back like he truly didn't mind the scattering of scales. Well, at least they felt fine – small and smooth and dry, true snake scales.

“My beautiful love,” Aziraphale gloated, and pulled back enough to kiss Crowley. 

“Yeah,” Crowley said, and swallowed. “ _Yours_.”

“As I said.” Aziraphale winked at him and stood to slip off his drawers and, well, fair was fair – off came Crowley's shorts at the same time, and he stretched out under the sun, surprised by how much he was suddenly smiling. Oh, they ought to do this more often.

Aziraphale giggled and petted Crowley's tummy, fingertips going out of their way to tap on tiny, jewel-like scales. As usual, Aziraphale had no sex, simple and smooth and hairless between his legs. Crowley had opted for a vulva, and little pouf of fire-coloured pubic hair to grace it, which Aziraphale kindly admired.

Crowley smiled and stretched, catlike, and rolled over. And held his breath.

Maybe he should have warned Aziraphale, or maybe he just hadn't had time to. Aziraphale had never hid his scars, of course. Though he really had only one, a great twisting thing that stretched over his hip. He swore up, down and sideways that it didn't pain him any longer, hadn't done so since he got it in the first great battle in heaven, which did exactly nothing to stop Crowley from fussing over him when it was damp or cold, or they had rambled far longer than usual.

Crowley had quietly hidden his scars though, as part of hiding the scales, so it was the first time Aziraphale had seen the long streaks down his back, his flanks, down over his hips, with one reaching to the soft ditch of his knee.

“Oh, love,” Aziraphale said quietly. He rested his hand in the middle of Crowley's back, where Crowley knew there were no scars. His wings had been outstretched after all. At first. “My poor sweetheart.”

“Don't pity me.”

“Never pity. But would you accept compassion?” Aziraphale asked. “Darling, these are from when you Fell, aren't they?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said quietly. “Wings burned. They're burns.”

“I'm so sorry, love. I'm so, so sorry,” Aziraphale murmured. “May I touch your back, Crowley?”

“If you want,” Crowley mumbled, glad he was face-down on the blanket. He could smell the wool, the familiar scent of their home. The grass beneath it, and the sun on the world.

“There now,” Aziraphale murmured. “I've seen, and it's all okay, darling. I love you very much. Thank you for letting me know this about you.”

Crowley shivered all over. “Sssstop. Talking.” It was a horrible thing to ask of his angel, but that was Crowley all over for you. And he just...couldn't. He couldn't.

Aziraphale stopped talking, of course, but his hands stayed busy, smoothing over Crowley's back, easing any tense muscles. Simply touching him. Aziraphale's hands were broad, strong and square, and they covered so much of Crowley's narrow frame. It was delicious, the way they touched his scarred skin, from neck to knees, and joined the sun's heat.

And little kisses too, scattered across his body until he was smiling, half-dozing in the sun and finally turning his head so he could crack an eye open, catch Aziraphale's gaze, and know he was happy too.

“Sorry,” he said, because, well _something_ had made it so they were lying in the sun and Aziraphale was silent, and they ought to be playing in the water.

“Whatever for?” Aziraphale smiled and winked at him, and leaned over to kiss his brow. “You didn't do a thing wrong, darling. But I forgive you, if you need that said.”

Crowley basked a little because he'd got one of the  _really really_ good ones, and then pushed himself up and kissed Aziraphale. “We should swim.”

Aziraphale, who was already starting to look a bit pink in the sun, let Crowley rise and pull him up after, laughing when they wound up in an embrace – in the shade, Crowley wasn't going to let an angel get  _sunburnt_ – their bodies pressing together. “Oh, that feels so lovely!”

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed. “It really does.” Aziraphale was soft from tip to toe, and delicious to hold anytime, but especially now when gold-flecked skin pressed _right against_ Crowley's body, and they took time for a kiss or three. No rush, after all.

“You're really _terribly_ distracting, did you know?” Aziraphale asked as he took Crowley's hand and led them to the edge of the little drop. He scrambled down and turned back, arms up, and honestly it was probably a good thing, because Crowley definitely went a little weak in the knees as Aziraphale's hands closed around his waist and with a single, smooth movement, got him down on the ground.

“Alley-oop,” Aziraphale said cheerfully.

“Yes, I am distracting,” Crowley recovered enough to say. “I'm _a demon_ , it's what we do. Also you tell me all the time,” he added, just in case Aziraphale thought he was being very clever.

“Because you are, all the time.” Aziraphale looped an arm around Crowley's waist and smiled at him, a little shy. “That's not a complaint.”

“I know, angel,” Crowley said softly, and pulled him into a hug. “I love you. Your marks are beautiful, by the way.”

“Oh! Oh, thank you, dear.” Aziraphale giggled, a little flustered, and hugged Crowley in return. Never too hard, never an embrace that could be mistaken for a punishment.

Crowley kissed his shoulder since it was right there, and they walked the few steps over the packed, cool earth and grass to the spring.

Crowley paused at the edge, standing on a rock. Just how cold was that water, from so deep in the earth?

He got a good idea as Aziraphale sat and slid in, yelping with surprise and joy, and laughing as he ducked under and then popped back up. “Darling! Oh, it's very refreshing.”

“Uh huh.” Crowley sat at the edge of the pool and poked a toe in. “It's positively Arctic!”

“You do exaggerate so,” Aziraphale sighed. “It's just a bit chilly, but you'll get used to it in a few moments.”

“I will not! I'm cold-blooded!”

“Only when you're a snake. Now come in, you're the one that wanted to swim in the first place,” Aziraphale reminded him. Here, the water only came up to his waist, and he held out his arms to Crowley. “Into the water with you, dearest. It feels absolutely _delicious_.”

Crowley wailed, because his beloved was so very utterly terrible, curled up, and tumbled his poor, tender frame into the water.

He came up sputtering, and just about missed whacking on Aziraphale with one flailing arm. “Aaaaah! Cold! Cold!”

Aziraphale swam backwards, out of range, and laughed at him, of course. He was getting into deeper water, but floated beautifully, where Crowley generally sank like a rock.

Crowley forced his freezing limbs apart so he could flop after Aziraphale (he was not, as a rule, a particularly good swimmer), scrambling his way into deeper water.

“See, you're quite used to it,” Aziraphale said cheerfully, once Crowley had splashed his way over.

“I am not,” Crowley said, because why should Aziraphale get the satisfaction? Even if the water did now feel deliciously cool. He ducked underwater and wriggled his way around the spring, taking definite advantage of not needing to breathe. And his eyes were as good down here as on the surface, which definitely aided in quietly swimming over to where Aziraphale was floating peacefully, and bursting up to the surface with a might splash.

“My dear! Goodness.” Aziraphale had flailed a bit and was now upright in the water. “You've got no manners at all, do you?”

“ _Demon_ ,” Crowley drawled, stretching out each syllable, and pointed at himself. 

“Really? I had no idea,” Aziraphale said dryly, and flicked some water at him, laughing when Crowley yelped in surprise.

“Bastard deep down,” he said, pointing to _him_ self, and Crowley was so in love he didn't even try to get revenge, just threw himself into Aziraphale's arms, knees coming up around his waist to latch in place, and kissing him like mad.

They splashed around and enjoyed the cool water, only climbing out when Aziraphale got a little peckish. He went first, and Crowley had the immense joy of watching him pull himself onto the grassy bank, the way his body moved, how his tummy and his hips squished and released, and all the lovely lines of him. They may have been asexual creatures, but there was nothing stopping Crowley from the aesthetic experience that was Aziraphale, chubby and beautiful and dappled with gold. And the terrible scar, so much worse than any Crowley had, which was part of his story too.

Crowley scrambled after him, and Aziraphale laughed and turned and helped him up, of course straight into a hug.

“I love your body,” he confessed, and kissed the hard ridge of Crowley's collarbone, where a little water still pooled. “You're so beautiful, darling.”

“Eh. Rather look at you,” Crowley said, and touched Aziraphale's hip. “Okay here? That water was cold.”

“I've told you a million times, of course.” Aziraphale smiled at him and laid a hand on his waist, fingertips touching some of his burn scars. “Crowley. I love you. This was very hard for you, wasn't it?”

Crowley looked down. “Sorry I didn't warn you. I.” He shut his mouth with a click. Stupid fucking  _words_ , abandoning him when Aziraphale loved words so much, loved Crowley's voice, and deserved honesty.

“Shhh. It's all right. I think it was best this way, or I would have worried over you too much,” Azirphale admitted. “I _am_ sorry you...for all the pain. Then and now. I love you so.” He slipped his arm around Crowley's waist. “Let's see what else you packed. A bit of a nibble will do you good.”

Crowley smiled at him, words still stuck in his throat, but he leaned into Aziraphale and didn't let go, even as they scrambled up the bank and returned to the glowing sunshine.

He joined in for a small tea sandwich, and then stretched out while Aziraphale made extremely happy noises over the selection of sandwiches and cakes and scones oh  _Crowley_ you spoil me, you really do. Maybe if he was extremely lucky he'd get to hand-feed some particular treat to Aziraphale later.

“Love, can I ask one question about your scars?” Aziraphale said, after they'd had time to dry out a bit, and Crowley had rolled over onto his back to sun his belly.

“Uh huh. Of course. More than one, if you want,” he offered, feeling soft and easy. And Aziraphale wouldn't hurt him; not on purpose. And if he accidentally did, he would apologize and make it right.

“I just have the one,” Aziraphale said, moving into the sun, though careful not to put Crowley in the shade his body threw. “Do they hurt you at all? Still, I mean.”

“No, angel. They don't. They're just...there. Like the scales.”

Aziraphale let out a breath. “Good. I'm glad. I don't think – it would have been awful, to think of you in pain and me not knowing,” he confessed. “Not helping.”

Crowley opened his eyes and smiled up at him. “Nothing like that. I promise.”

Aziraphale touched his lips, kissed his brow, and settled again in the shade, protecting his tender skin. Good, Crowley wouldn't have to fuss, and they'd be able to stay naked. It felt  _delicous_ to have his whole body open to the sky, drinking in sunlight alongside the champagne Aziraphale had poured out for them.

The afternoon passed going between the spring and the grassy sward; often together, but sometimes alone. Crowley took a nap and awoke to see Aziraphale just coming out of the water, his skin gleaming and glittering in the sun, every line of him revealed, utterly without shyness, and breathtakingly beautiful. He was cool to the touch when he lay down next to Crowley, though of course his skin warmed quickly, especially where they were pressed together and Crowley threw his arms around Aziraphale's shoulders to better kiss him.

And then there was the time Aziraphale got lost in his book so Crowley splashed around in the clear water, trying to float and failing, delighting in the feel of water against his body, and the way he was  _finally_ showing Aziraphale what he really looked like. And Aziraphale loved him. Not just  _him_ , that is, but loved his imperfect body with his whole heart. Maybe Crowley wouldn't cover up the scars and the scales again, not unless he really needed to. Like Azirpahale's scar; part of him. Not something to be ashamed of. And, maybe, something for his beloved to treasure about him, because it was of him.

All this was quite enough philosophy for the day, so he splashed around some more, got good and wet, and went to go annoy Aziraphale, mostly by draping his soaking-wet self all over the angel, and hopefully getting something important a bit damp.

He failed entirely in the annoying part, and felt slightly put off, but that was being in love for you, he reckoned. Aziraphale just put his book safely out of reach and gathered Crowley close, their skin slipping together.

“Just like a greased eel,” Aziraphale teased, and got one forearm under Crowley's bum to hold him in place while they kissed.

They lingered all through the afternoon as the midsummer sun seemed to hang motionless in the sky. There were kisses, of course, and waves of cuddles, then parting to read or splash about or nap, then coming together again, like a little tide sweeping over them. Crowley had quite sensibly packed a cold supper, and they feasted together.

Dessert was an array of tiny fruit tarts, each one perfect and glistening in the syrupy golden light of an English summer evening. Aziraphale picked one out of the box and admired the deep red of the strawberry.

“You like that one?” Crowley asked. He was still naked, though the air was cooling enough that trousers were becoming a kind of hazy, thoughtful idea. Or maybe a long skirt, one that was big enough to wrap around Aziraphale too. That was a good idea.

“It's beautiful.” Aziraphale held it to Crowley's lips, and Crowley was so surprised he let himself be hand-fed.

“Now I see why you do that so much,” Aziraphale said, and winked. “You always spoil me so, love. I wanted to get in early. Make sure you had something delicious before I gobbled them all.” He touched Crowley's cheek, fingertips stroking the edge of his short, swim-ruffled hair. “I want to show you, the way you show me, how I love you.”

Crowley turned red and didn't say anything for a little while, which was all right, because he was picking out another tart – this one gleaming with pomegranate airils and little flecks of gold. Just like angel marks, really, so he fed it to Aziraphale, and kissed the gold sparkles across his cheeks, and touched the galaxy on his chest.

“It's all right,” Aziraphale murmured. “I understand.” He sighed and settled comfortably, and Crowley fed him another tart, smile growing as Aziraphale closed his eyes and murmured his appreciation. For a moment, Crowley's world narrowed to the tip of Aziraphale's tongue licking his lips, chasing down every last crumb.

They feasted, and Aziraphale looked hard at Crowley before manifesting, in order, a warm cotton blanket, a flask of tea, two mugs, and a small silver pitcher of milk. He draped the blanket around Crowley, poured the tea, and added milk to his, and watched Crowley with the same attention a hawk gives its prey until his mug was empty and he was warm, snuggled up against Aziraphale and using his belly for a handy pillow.

All through the golden hour he kissed gold flecks and stretch marks, nuzzling the softness that spoke of meals enjoyed, of course, but more than that. Aziraphale had chosen this corporation, over and over; he was comfortable and familiar and comforting and so, so, utterly gorgeous. Crowley had learned already how Aziraphale's body gave under even a light touch. (And it wasn't as though he habitually used harsh touches on his angel, other than that time he'd pulled Aziraphale out of the path of a horse and carriage running amok. He still remembered it, fear etching the moment with perfect clarity; the way his hand sunk into Aziraphale's arm even through layers of fabric, the weight of the angel as Crowley pulled him off-balance and caught him, keeping him out of the path of pain and injury. He had healed the bruises his fingers left without thinking about it, and Aziraphale had taken him out to lunch in thanks.)

He explored his lover's skin, the comforting softness of his belly. His stretch marks were impossibly soft and smooth; new baby skin, because Aziraphale's body was making room for itself in the world. Crowley loved the pretty pale streaks, and the way the stretched skin gleamed a little, the way it reflected light differently. The skin that was flecked with gold didn't feel any different from the rest of his tummy, so Crowley thought the angel marks very beautiful, but didn't love them the way he loved the stretch marks, or the occasional mole; the things that made Aziraphale feel different.

He kissed the angel marks, though, because they were there and they were Aziraphale, and maybe he felt a little bad for not loving them as much. Still, little matter, and as the light turned from gold to blue and the sun began to think about setting, Crowley was practically purring, snuggled up against his Aziraphale.

“Shall we head home?” Aziraphale asked softly, petting his hair. “We've had the most beautiful day, darling.”

“Mmmm. _Home_ ,” Crowley agreed, and stretched. A snap of his fingers and he was clothed, and he grinned at the sad sound Aziraphale made. “Just for the walk, angel. Promise.”

“I'll hold you to that. You got to smooch on me for _hours_ , and I need my turn,” Aziraphale complained.

“Aw, why d'you wanna do that?” Crowley drawled, finally sitting up and starting to fold his blanket.

“Whyever wouldn't I?” Aziraphale sounded surprised. “Crowley. I know you're the one with the body-worship fetish--”

“Yes, yes I am,” Crowley interrupted proudly.

“\-- but I love your body too. I want to kiss your scales. I like to feel your bones just under your skin.” Aziraphale smiled shyly. “Your body's so different from mine, and I love to find all the differences. And to just...kiss you. Love your corporation the way I love you. And there's so much of you that's new to me today. I need to memorize it, you know, the way you've memorized _my_ body.”

“Oh. I. Well. Won't stop you,” Crowley said weakly.

“Smart demon,” Aziraphale teased, and got in one more kiss before getting dressed.

Decent again, they packed up their picnic and walked home in the long twilight, hand-in-hand, back through the countryside. The forest, already deep and blue and cool with oncoming night. Through the gap in the hedge, and Aziraphale took down the ward that had kept them private for the day. Through the fields alive with night-calling birds, even a few bats out early. And across their own meadow, where the bees had gone away for the night and perfumes from Crowley's roses filled the breeze. And, finally, back to their little cottage, snug and safe and theirs in the blue light of a midsummer night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> [I'm on tumblr too](http://dietraumerei.tumblr.com)


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